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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22519957">White Knight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludovico_is_my_homeboy/pseuds/Ludovico_is_my_homeboy'>Ludovico_is_my_homeboy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bikers, Alternate Universe - Human, Bar Room Brawl, Biker Peter Hale, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Good Peter, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Introspection, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Peter Hale Deserves Nice Things, Peter Hale is a Softie, Possessive Peter, Protective Peter, References to Depression, Shy Stiles Stilinski, Smut, Stiles Stilinski Needs a Hug, Tattooed Peter Hale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:07:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,160</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22519957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludovico_is_my_homeboy/pseuds/Ludovico_is_my_homeboy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles stumbles into a biker bar while trying to escape an abusive ex. An act of bravery - or desperation - changes his life for the better.</p><p>Or</p><p>Something I slapped together loosely based on the prompt: "please pretend to be my boyfriend for the next ten minutes"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>148</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1974</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. White Knight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Stiles twists his arm out of Theo’s grasp and spins away, tripping on his own feet and nearly falling on the cracked pavement.</p><p><em>No</em>, the word sings out in his head, clear and loud as a bell.</p><p>
  <em>No. No. No.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Not again.</em>
</p><p>Like so many things in his life, running into Theo again had been an unexpected accident, a cosmic middle finger directed right at the young man with the shittiest luck in town. The odds were infinitesimal, ludicrous.</p><p>He'd laugh if he wasn't so terrified.</p><p>He'd literally just turned around and there he was, the last person on earth Stiles ever wanted to see, the one person he'd been running from for months. He watches as the surprise on Theo's face melts into derision and oh-so familiar anger in the blink of an eye.</p><p>Stiles had moved to a completely new city just to get away from him and yet here he was, the smooth, cruel smirk and ever-tightening fingers threatening to drag him back under.</p><p>
  <em>Under...</em>
</p><p><em>Just my luck,</em> he thinks.</p><p>“You stupid…”</p><p>"Let me go...!"</p><p>"You..."</p><p>“I have a boyfriend,” Stiles blurts out. “A new boyfriend! I’m meeting him now, and if you don’t back off…”</p><p>“You don’t,” Theo rolls his eyes. “You stupid little bitch. What kind of loser would ever...?”</p><p>“I do,” Stiles interrupts, his voice cracking.</p><p>"Goddamit, you don't get to walk away..."</p><p>"He'll beat you up! Let go!"</p><p>It's a lie, of course. It sounds like a lie and is a lie. Fuck.</p><p>Stiles used to be so good at lying. Not in a malicious way, usually... but he could wiggle out of trouble and bend the rules and run circles around others who were just a bit less clever and quick.</p><p>He used to be good at that. He used to be bold and confident and charming. He used to embody all the things you need to be and have in order to spin a really good yarn. </p><p>People used to believe him when he spoke.</p><p>Yeah, those were the days.</p><p>Theo knows him, though. Theo broke him. In the long years he'd been with Theo his confidence had evaporated.</p><p>His ex had always been able to find Stiles’ weaknesses and use them, weaponize them against him, the whole time they had been together. </p><p>The look on Theo's face makes it obvious, painfully obvious that he doesn't believe him now.  </p><p>No new phantom boyfriend was going to protect him.</p><p>Panic rises in his throat, threatening to choke him – y<em>ou’ve made him angry, you’ve made THEO angry, you know what that means, you stupid waste of space, he’s going to...</em></p><p>His eyes flick over Theo’s shoulder, latching onto potential salvation.</p><p>There's a building across the road from where they are standing on the pavement, having their little confrontation – neon lights advertising The Half Moon Bar and Grill. Before his former boyfriend can grab him again, Stiles darts across the street, narrowly avoiding passing traffic, and plows through the bar’s front entrance.</p><p>The front lounge is nearly empty. A dark-haired bartender is leaning on the counter and reading a newspaper and a few customers are scattered at tables throughout.</p><p>There are two pool tables in the center of the room situated a good distance away from the bar's front door. Two rather large bikers in cut-off tees are playing at one while a third man sits on the edge of a nearby table, happily chatting to them. They seem focused on their game and conversation, and do not even look up when Stiles runs in.</p><p>At the second pool table at the other end of the bar a man is practicing alone, barely illuminated by the weak overhead lights.</p><p>Leaning over the table and lining up his shot, the solitary man has light brown hair and a tattoo on his neck. Though very physically fit, he isn't obviously bulky - he is tall and has a streamlined quality to him, a narrow face which seems vaguely lupine. Despite his appearance - and he looks strong, yes, he doesn't look like someone Stiles particularly wants to meet in a dark alley - you can see just by looking at him that brute force is not his go-to strategy.</p><p>He would be quick, agile in a fight, using his sharp mind before resorting to his muscles.</p><p>He is everything Stiles used to be, before...</p><p>His face is a picture of concentration, a focused look softening the curve of his mouth and making him appear oblivious to the outside world.</p><p>Without thinking, Stiles zeroes in on the stranger, his feet carrying him almost unconsciously, but with definite intent, towards him.</p><p>The man has taken his shot and is straightening when Stiles reaches him.</p><p>“Hi,” Stiles says.</p><p>The man looks at him blankly.</p><p>
  <em>Oh Stiles, what are you doing?</em>
</p><p>“I’ll pay you fifty bucks to pretend to be my boyfriend for the next ten minutes,” Stiles blurts out, unable to keep the frantic tremor out of his voice.</p><p>Whatever the man had been expecting him to say, that clearly wasn’t it. He gives Stiles an incredulous, almost shocked look and all at once the fragile walls Stiles had built in his own mind threaten to tumble down.</p><p>The man is going to say no.</p><p><em>Of course</em> he is going to say no.</p><p>He is going to say no and then he is going to flatten Stiles like a pancake for approaching him in the first place.</p><p>Stiles is suddenly painfully aware of the bar’s dim lighting, of every small noise in the building, of the ridiculousness of the situation, of how little time he has left if Theo chooses to follow him, of the dire consequences he will no doubt suffer if Theo comes through those doors right now and sees him vulnerable and alone...</p><p>
  <em>He wouldn't hit me. Even Theo wouldn't be that dumb, that nasty. He wouldn't drag me out of here, right? Wouldn't drag me out and hit me and then apologize and then force me into his car and back to... somewhere...?</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Someone would stop him, right? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But no one ever stopped him before.</em>
</p><p>Desperate, Stiles lurches forward on his toes and plants a small kiss on the corner of the tattooed man’s mouth. His lips catch the edge of the man’s goatee and he tastes sweat and beer and <em>him</em>, whoever he is.</p><p>The man jerks slightly but doesn’t move away, doesn't end the kiss or push Stiles back.</p><p>It's just as well... it's an all-to-brief moment and then Stiles is pulling away of his own accord, rolling back on his heels, his breathing stuttering because of fear and also because of something that is decidedly <em>not</em> fear...</p><p>At that very moment, the door to the bar swings open and Theo strolls in.</p><p>“Fuck,” Stiles hisses and spins around with his back to the door.</p><p>Maybe Theo won’t see him. Maybe he’ll take one look at the bar and decide it isn’t worth the trouble. Maybe he’ll figure that Stiles - awkward, skinny, nerdy Stiles - would never possibly come into a place like this, and go away.</p><p>Not that it matters. The muscled, tattooed biker dude was obviously going to murder him anyway for fucking <em>PROPOSITIONING </em>him and then <em>KISSING</em> him and, <em>oh God, what have I done, why did I think this would work? This is the dumbest idea I've ever had... fuck, no...</em></p><p>“Oh, I think we can do better than that.”</p><p>Before Stiles can process the words or figure out who had spoken them, someone is tipping his chin up with gentle fingers and planting a kiss on his mouth. Immediately the surrounding world slips into the background and Stiles’ thoughts are drowned out by a pleasant buzzing white-noise.</p><p>The kiss is soft at first, a whispered question, and Stiles feels his lips open slightly, responding to the warmth and care that he can feel in the touch, in the initial tentativeness behind this act. Once another moment passes and the kiss has been established, gentle still, yet growing steadily more firm, that strange mouth moves against his.</p><p>There are gentle nips which soon become more demanding, and then a probing tongue, still careful, still a question which deepens into an actual statement. The statement morphs into a kind of demand when Stiles answers, hesitantly at first and then with increasing eagerness.</p><p>The man never pushes, and the kiss deepens but only goes so far - there and no further. It surprises Stiles, in the part of his brain that is not currently flashing a 404 Page Not Found message, that the stranger seems to be holding back a little.</p><p>At the same time there is something breathtakingly tender about it, the strange chasteness, the restraint which still holds the promise of something more, still speaks to a deeper hunger, an unmistakable want.</p><p>When they break the kiss, Stiles lets out a long exhale and releases something inside himself that he hadn’t known he was holding in.</p><p>“Oh, fuck me,” Stiles whispers.</p><p>“Why don’t I get you a beer first?”</p><p>Oh shit, he’d said that out loud, hadn’t he?</p><p>Stiles opens his eyes (which he hadn’t realized he'd closed) and looks up at a pair of blue ones, the amusement in them echoed by a sly smirk stretching beautiful lips shiny from kissing. One strong hand is pressed firmly yet gently to Stiles' waist while another is propped up on the pool table, boxing him in.</p><p>Tattoo Guy, far from trying to kill him, is leaning in towards him and is <em>smiling</em> at him and had <em>kissed</em>… Oh, this is great. Fan-fucking-tastic.</p><p>
  <em>You’ve gotten yourself into some shit here, Stiles…</em>
</p><p>And yet, weirdly, he doesn't feel trapped. He should... he should feel horrified and embarrassed and cornered, but he doesn't. He works his mouth a little and finally manages to force out a sound.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>
  <em>Eloquent.</em>
</p><p>The man seems amused and not at all put off…maybe even smugly pleased that his kiss had fried Stiles’ brain to the point where the English language was apparently beyond him.</p><p>Tattoo Guy patiently repeats himself: “Would you like a beer?”</p><p>Stiles hesitates and then nods.</p><p>The man’s gaze flickers over Stiles’ shoulder towards the bar’s entrance before he slips away, sauntering over to the counter. Stiles feels the man's absence - the warmth and weight of him - more acutely than is probably strictly appropriate.</p><p>He risks a glance of his own at bar behind him and sees Theo hovering awkwardly by the front door, looking uncharacteristically unsure.</p><p><em>He was so sure I was lying</em>, Stiles thinks. <em>Of course, I was lying…there’s no one, there hasn’t been anyone, you’ve been hiding in your apartment too afraid to come out, he ruined you, you’re too fucked up to ever...</em></p><p>A cold bottle is pressed into his hands and bemused eyes meet his again, drawing his gaze and his thoughts away from Theo.</p><p>Stiles gapes up at Tattoo Guy for a moment before murmuring a soft, “Thank you” and clutching the bottle of beer to his chest like a magic totem.</p><p>The man smiles, takes a swig of his own beer before placing it on the pool table next to Stiles’ elbow and drawing Stiles closer to him, shielding him, it seems, without being obvious or aggressive about it.</p><p>The act is, like the kiss, very obvious in its meaning... and it is almost more obvious for being so subtle, so natural, so smooth. It is a non-verbal statement of fact – <em>this one’s for me</em>. Stiles could not more clearly belong to this man - this stranger - than if he'd written the guy's name on his forehead in permanent marker.</p><p>For a moment Stiles almost believes it himself.</p><p>Tattoo Guy clocks Theo again, eyes narrowing slightly as he evaluates him. He then spares a glance around the room as if considering pieces on a chessboard before returning his attention, his sly smile and watchful eyes, to Stiles.</p><p>Stiles, for his part, feels exposed under the man’s gaze. It is at once both piercing and remarkably complacent, as if the stranger can see every single thing going on in everyone's heads and is not remotely surprised by any of it.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Stiles blurts out.</p><p>The man opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted.</p><p>“So this is the famous new boyfriend, huh?”</p><p>Stiles winces.</p><p>Theo has found his way over to the pool table and is now looking at the Stiles and Tattoo Guy with disdain. He looks remarkably out of place in here with his sharp haircut and his designer labels, but then again Stiles figures he looks no better with his flannel button-up and his Wonder Woman t-shirt. Theo had always hated his comic book obsession, and Stiles is suddenly foolishly proud of today’s clothing choice.</p><p>Theo’s lips twists up cruelly in an ugly grin that is all too familiar to Stiles, and Stiles can feel himself curling inwards at the sight.</p><p>“I was wondering who could possibly want a neurotic whore like you, but I guess this fits.”</p><p>There it is. It takes so little to send Stiles right back into the mindset he’d tried so hard to escape from. He wants to sink through the floor, to apologize, anything to make Theo stop, go away, be quiet, be gone.</p><p>Tattoo Guy’s hand finds Stiles’ hip again and squeezes it gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles through the younger man's shirt.</p><p>“I gotta say it was a weight off my shoulders when you left," Theo continues, bitterly. "You were always a pathetic, whiny little bitch so it figures…”</p><p>The man's voice is grating on Stiles’ soul. He can’t meet anyone's gaze, can’t do anything but stare at the floor.</p><p>“…the only person who would bother to fuck you would be an equally pathetic white trash thug…”</p><p><em>No</em>, rings through Stiles head again, and just that quickly - in an instant, in a flash - it is like someone else, the old, pre-Theo Stiles, has taken the wheel.</p><p>Stiles had, frankly, almost forgotten that this Stiles - the real Stiles, the 'before' Stiles - ever existed. He is here now, though, and he is loud and angry and defiant.</p><p>His head shoots up and, rage blazing inside of him, he takes a step towards Theo.</p><p>“N-no! Fuck you, Theo! You put me in the E.R., you p-piece of shit! You don’t get to say anything about anyone! He’s amazing, he's perfect, he’s ten times the man you are!”</p><p>Stiles is not entirely shocked when Theo lunges at him…it's scene they've played out before. It's the scene that had finally forced Stiles, for his own safety and what was left of his sanity, to leave his home town for good.</p><p>He is surprised, however, when another body is suddenly standing between him and Theo and is not just acting as a barrier but is in fact grabbing Theo by the shoulders and hurling him halfway across the room.</p><p>Suddenly multiple bodies are engaged in an awkward, violent shuffle towards the bar's front door, a conflict that ends rather abruptly when several pairs of strong arms fling Theo unceremoniously out of the building and shut the door behind him with some decisiveness.</p><p>But Stiles doesn’t see that – just like that his short burst of adrenaline is over and he is crashing to his knees, alone, in the grip of a panic attack.</p><p>What has he done?</p><p>He was three months free. Three months, and before that...</p><p>Three years…three years of Theo, three years of moments like this.</p><p>The last time - the very last time - there had been a concussion and a broken arm. Worse, there had been no one left to help him... Theo had made sure of that. He'd systematically driven everyone and anyone who cared for Stiles away, locked them out, made Stiles ashamed and afraid to go to them.</p><p>When the dam broke, Stiles, lonely and alone, had had to save himself. </p><p>Stiles left nearly all his stuff behind, his job, his whole life, so that he could run away to a place where Theo would never find him… but then he'd found him anyway. Through luck or fate or design, Theo found him.</p><p>It had taken every last shred of strength Stiles had in him to start a new life, to start over, and now Theo would kill him, would drag him back to their private hell, would…</p><p><em>Oh god oh god oh god oh no</em>…</p><p>“You’re okay. You’re okay.”</p><p>Stiles blinks. Breathing is slowly growing easier. His eyes are still glued to the sticky barroom floor. There is a hand, surprisingly gentle, covering his... slowing his movements as he rubs distractedly at his chest, trying to take in air.</p><p>There is a soft voice…</p><p>“He’s gone, and he’s not coming back anytime soon. Nothing to be scared of. You're okay.”</p><p>Stiles looks up. Sharp blue eyes again, no longer amused. Unreadable.</p><p>Stiles feels a blush creep into his cheeks.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says.</p><p>God, how many times has he said that in his life? It felt like he'd said it every other minute to Theo without ever really meaning it, and then afterwards he'd said it over and over again to himself and to others, so many times, like a broken record.</p><p>Why is he saying it now?</p><p>“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, baby,” Tattoo Guy replies. His mouth quirks up at the corners. “Not every day a total stranger tries to fight a total asshole to defend my honor.”</p><p>“I meant it.” At that moment it seems important that Stiles make this clear. “He had no right to say what he said to you.”</p><p>“You don’t even know me, sweetheart. Besides, I’ve been called worse.”</p><p>“No,” Stiles shakes his head. “No. You helped me. You could have done…so many things, but you helped me. You are a better person than he could ever be.”</p><p>“Well considering my competition that ain’t saying much.” The man paused, weighing his words. “Did he really put you in the hospital?”</p><p>Stiles blanches.</p><p>The hospital, yeah…pathetic Stiles, 140 pounds of fragile skin and bones…his only defense was sarcasm and Theo had managed to replace even that with an endless succession of tears and “I’m sorrys”.</p><p>And what had Theo called him?</p><p><em>A neurotic whore</em>.</p><p>Fantastic.</p><p>Pathetic.</p><p>Stiles takes in the man in front of him, distracting himself from his own spiraling shame by evaluating this kind stranger. Stiles would bet any amount of money that this strong, fierce guy would have zero tolerance for weakness in a partner. Theo had been right, he did look terrifying - his thick arms and chest filling out his clothes, the tattoos, the smirk. He'd moved so quickly when trouble started.</p><p>Stiles is a little envious. This man, this stranger - he had gotten so tall, so expansive in that single moment when facing down a threat. He'd been so powerful, while Stiles had just crumbled like wet tissue paper. </p><p>Though the man’s face is impassive at the moment Stiles can see how the eyes and mouth could very easily turn cruel. He is the kind of guy who would know where all the soft targets are, and who would have no trouble hitting them hard and repeatedly.</p><p>He is speaking again. Stiles blinks, uncomprehending.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I said I don’t know why you picked me as your white knight,” the man says.</p><p>Is there a note of bitterness there? <em>Self-deprecating</em>, Stiles’s mind helpfully supplies. Stiles hadn’t meant to... well, he doesn’t know what he meant. He never meant to cause anyone any pain, but pain is always there no matter what his intentions.</p><p>Stiles considers the man’s unspoken question, his closed-off expression, and then slowly pulls himself up to his feet, using the side of the pool table to help himself up. The man stands as well, giving Stiles a little bit more space but not much. He is respectful but he also seems reluctant to move too far away.</p><p>Stiles cocks his head and gives him a slight smile, pulling himself together a little bit and sidestepping the man's non-question with a question of his own. “I don’t know why you didn’t just punch me in the face when I propositioned you.”</p><p>The man studies him in for a moment, and then a slow grin spreads across his face, going up and up until it reaches his eyes. Stiles thinks he likes it, that unguarded, pleased look.</p><p>“To be honest I was about to tell you to fuck off before you planted that kiss on me.”</p><p>Ah. Right. Well, if Stiles hadn’t been tomato-red before he certainly is now.</p><p>“It was kind of a shock. Unexpected. But brave and...,” now it's the man’s turn to look a little embarrassed. “... And sweet. Nice.”</p><p>Tattoo Guy pauses, his grin fading, and he suddenly looks quite serious. “You aren’t someone who should be hurt, or who should have to be afraid.”</p><p>Stiles opens his mouth to protest, to say that the stranger doesn't even know him, cannot possibly make that kind of assumption... but then again Stiles did exactly the same thing, didn't he? He looked at the man and ran to him, all on instinct.</p><p>He nods, swallowing his embarrassment, and thinks that he might just owe his impromptu rescuer some kind of explanation.</p><p>“I’m not sure why I picked you," he admits after a moment. "I came through the door and you were the first person I saw clearly, like a beacon. I was terrified and you just seemed, in that first moment…nice. And like you wouldn’t hurt me. Like you wouldn’t be afraid.”</p><p>The man’s embarrassment transforms into incredulity. Stiles throws his hands up in the air, trying to inject some wry humor and break up the suddenly heavy mood.</p><p>“Please, I know I’m a hot mess, you don’t have to call me out on it!" he sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. "You got it from the man himself… a neurotic whore.”</p><p>The man doesn't laugh. He growls, mouth turning downwards into a frown.</p><p>“Did you just…?” Stiles blinks and shakes his head. </p><p>
  <em>Growling? Really?</em>
</p><p>The man doesn’t respond, just stands there with his arms folded, glaring at the wall over Stiles shoulder as if it has personally offended him.</p><p>“Well. Well, I guess I…” Stiles hesitates, then shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out his wallet.</p><p>He'd just gone to the ATM before running into Theo, thank God, and he pulls out three twenties to give to his accidental savior – <em>fifty bucks for saving me from my psycho ex, and ten for the beers. Have you ever thought of going pro? I’m sure there’s a huge market for white knights with tattoos and beautiful eyes. </em></p><p>Stiles drops his gaze and holds out the money. This will be the end of it, he thinks. He feels weirdly like a door is being closed on him, somehow.</p><p>Long fingers wrap themselves firmly around his hand. Stiles looks up and sees that Tattoo Guy’s face has gone back to the look of gentle concentration he'd been wearing when Stiles first saw him playing pool, though this time there is a hint of uncertainty in his eyes as well.</p><p>The man tilts his head towards the bar and gives Stiles a small grin.</p><p>“Stay?” He glances down at the money. “Drink this with me?”</p><p>A neurotic whore and his white knight. Stiles supposes there were worse things.</p><p>He grins back. “I’m Stiles.”</p><p>“Peter.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Pilgrim Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's night.</p><p>It's late.</p><p>It's so late it's early... the night is velvet darkness and nothing else.</p><p>They've both slipped past the point of being tired and moved seamlessly into that strange twilight consciousness that is very nearly hyper-wakefulness. It is hyper-awareness, certainly. Every detail is clear and defined.</p><p>But the late hour is not the real reason why Peter and Stiles are so very, very wrapped up in all the many things they are feeling.</p><p>Peter pushes into Stiles with agonizing slowness – <em>so tight, so good, so perfect</em> – the sensation dragging a low moan from both himself and the young man stretched out beneath him.</p><p>It punches the air out of the both of them for a moment... only a moment.</p><p>Jumbled words of praise and pleasure spill out and are just as quickly cut off as their mouths clash together.</p><p>Peter moves. Slow at first. Shifting, stuttering, trying to find his way. He finds his rhythm - almost familiar, and yet...</p><p>He feels like a virgin again, cracked wide open and exposed for the world to see - and what the world sees is a man trying to make it good. A man who wants to hold on to a fragile, beautiful thing any way he can. It may mean being vulnerable... that is a difficult thing to be, but worth it.</p><p>Stiles answers. Stiles always answers. It's why Peter...</p><p>(It's why he loves him.)</p><p>Stiles moves too, moves up, meets the thrusts, uses his mouth, clings to Peter, blooms like a flower in the sun.</p><p>Peter finds himself gripping Stiles tightly with both hands as if he feared the other man would somehow vanish beneath him. But then that isn’t any good either…his hands need to roam, to touch and cover soft skin, to tease nipples and moles and small scars, to bruise and soothe.</p><p>To keep, and to keep safe.</p><p>So beautiful. So perfect.</p><p>
  <em>Mine.</em>
</p><p>Peter looks down at honey-brown eyes swimming in tears.</p><p>Tears.</p><p><em>No</em>.</p><p>Peter stutters to a stop, a sharp, unexpected stab of panic, of fear in his chest.</p><p>
  <em>No, please no, don’t let me have hurt...</em>
</p><p>“It’s okay, I’m okay. Shhh…” Stiles sees Peter’s face and rubs his own hands frantically down the older man's sides, comforting him. It doesn't help, doesn't do much to break through the panic.</p><p>
  <em>Monster. Teeth and claws. You hurt him. Somehow, somehow you hurt him.</em>
</p><p><em>I made him cry, he shouldn’t be comforting me</em>.</p><p>“Are you…?”</p><p>“I’m not hurt, you didn’t hurt me. I’m okay. It’s just…” Stiles takes in a deep, shaky breath, “…a lot. Everything. So much.”</p><p>“Do you want to stop?” Peter asks.</p><p>He'll stop, he'll stop right now, even though he has never felt anything quite so perfect as this, as being buried inside Stiles, as being wrapped up in his embrace. He'd do it in a heartbeat, though, if Stiles is hurt.</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” Stiles reaches up with both hands and cups Peter’s face. A few remaining tears drop onto the carpet beneath him, vanishing in the fabric, forgotten.</p><p>Peter feels a deep ache inside, and he reaches down to stroke Stiles’ cheek tenderly.</p><p>“It’s not…” Stiles starts, then stops, then tries again. “You’re beautiful. This is… I’m so…”</p><p>Stiles is laughing now, and crying, and the young man's laughter and shaking rocks his body and sends jolts of pleasure through his lover. Peter gasps and his hips jerk forward again, cutting off speech and tears and thought as they fall together.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Peter pulls a cushion off his worn couch and uses it to prop up him and Stiles in a more comfortable position.</p><p>They hadn’t made it to the bed. In fact, they'd barely made it through the front door of Peter’s apartment before they'd collapsed together onto the worn carpet... and then Peter was using his lips and his teeth to drag punchy little moans and hiccups out of Stiles... and then Stiles was running his hands up and down Peter's body, so sweet and gentle... and then Peter was opening Stiles up with skilled fingers...</p><p>Stiles had shown a great deal of affection for Peter's tattoos. He'd cataloged every one thoroughly with his tongue.</p><p>Peter looks down. Stiles is curled up in the crook of Peter’s arm, his blissed-out post-coital expression fading into a soft half-sleep, his free arm wrapped around Peter’s waist.</p><p>Peter will clean them both up in a minute, but for now he reaches up again and this time pulls a shaggy throw blanket off the couch. He drapes it, one-handed, over them both, careful not to disturb his dozing lover.</p><p>He wants Stiles to be warm. He wants him to be comfortable here, with him, in his home.</p><p><em>Sucker</em>, Peter thinks. <em>You total sucker, you absolute fucking fool. Brown Bambi eyes and a wide, wicked smile and a gentle kiss on the corner of the mouth. All it took. Goodnight.</em></p><p>He’d been gone in that single moment. Completely and totally gone.</p><p>Peter Hale is not a nice man. He can be selfish and cruel, his shark’s smile hiding an ugly bitterness inside, a lingering, lonely pain. He'd never been easy to be around, even in his younger years, and his family, what was left of it, were no longer in his life. They had slowly and surely pushed him away and left him behind - or maybe he'd left them, it's so hard to remember now - so subtly yet so comprehensively that it was as if they had never existed at all.</p><p>And he is not a man who makes connections easily - not with family or friends or lovers. He resists commitment, permanence, and it shows in his attitude, in everything he does.</p><p>He'd found himself drifting through his own life, no agony and no ecstasy. His friends and acquaintances didn’t know him, not really, and his lovers always left long before the dawn.</p><p>Such an easy pattern to slip into... like being asleep or being in a coma, day in and day out. Not seeing, not hearing, not feeling. He had barely even noticed himself going gray and blurry around the edges. The fire that had fueled him in his youth slowly smoldered and died.</p><p>He hadn’t really registered Stiles when the young man first stumbled into Peter's usual bar. He'd only clocked him and labeled him ‘not a threat’ in the constant cycle of evaluation and categorization going on in the back of his mind. He refocused his attention on his game.</p><p>(What a fool. What a fool.)</p><p>And then the young man was at Peter’s side, all wiry angles, his hands twisting together in some unspoken plea.</p><p>Small, Peter thought. Not frail or short, exactly, but still small. Insubstantial. Not someone who would interrupt the cycle he'd fallen into, not someone who would threaten any current status quo.</p><p>Fragile. Not a threat.</p><p>How wrong, how wrong he'd been.</p><p>(Such a fool.)</p><p>His mother, before she died, once told Peter that it was the bravest thing of all to be kind in a cruel world.</p><p>Peter hadn't accepted this bit of wisdom at the time.</p><p>Life is clawing your way through, of surviving hard knocks by being hard yourself. Of slamming against walls, of flat denials, of neither asking for nor giving assistance. That had always worked in the past... or, if it hadn't worked, Peter had long been too distracted by his own aches and pains - some self-inflicted, some not - to understand the difference.</p><p>Peter sees what his mother meant, now.</p><p>He sees it in Stiles, who handed over the reins to Peter, who gave him the keys to his safety, his self, based on nothing but a blind instinct.</p><p>Peter could have easily destroyed the kid when he first approached him, first asked him to… not even to stand up for Stiles, not even that, but just to pretend. Just to pretend to care.</p><p>Pretend to care for ten whole minutes.</p><p>
  <em>Please pretend to love me for the next ten minutes.</em>
</p><p>It would have been so easy to push him away, to crush his hopes and wishes, and in fact he had very nearly done so. Peter had come so close to losing this, losing everything, and he hadn't even realized. Not then, anyway.</p><p>And then a kiss - gentle, awkward, an act of faith.</p><p>
  <em>You complete sap.</em>
</p><p>No, Stiles is not fragile, and he is not weak. He is a fearsome thing, brutal in his sweetness, devastating in his trust. He makes Peter want nothing more than to be gentle back, to carve out a space in the hard rock of the world for the two of them to curl up together, soft and vulnerable, as they are now.</p><p>And he stood up when Peter hadn't. In the face of his abusive ex's sneering taunts, he'd defended a total stranger. Stiles’s moral compass had shown bright and clear. Stiles had made it so very easy for Peter to answer in turn.</p><p>And now?</p><p>“That was my first time since…since Theo.”                                                                    </p><p>Stiles’ eyes are less glazed then they before, and he gazes at empty space, thoughtful. When the words are out he seems to hear them more clearly, how they might sound, and he winces slightly.</p><p>“It wasn’t... it’s that I haven’t been comfortable enough with anyone since then. Haven’t really let myself get to know anybody. It wasn’t intentional, I guess…it was just easier to never leave the box I built for myself in my head. Safer. But maybe it wasn't really safer. I’ve missed so much...”</p><p>Peter idly reaches over with his free hand and brushes his fingers over Stiles’s furrowed brow as if he could smooth out both lines and worries with this simple, affectionate touch.</p><p>He can't erase everything, the past and the worries and the fears, but Stiles is still soothed somewhat by the feel of Peter's rough fingers against his skin. He grows quiet and sleepy and content again.</p><p>They stayed at the bar until closing time, that first night. They drank away the money Stiles promised Peter and with each passing moment Stiles bloomed more and more, talking about his friends, the family he’d had to leave behind to escape Theo, about his new job designing security software, about the flaws and merits of some comic book adaptation Peter hadn't seen yet.</p><p><em>Stop</em>, Peter wanted to say to Stiles. <em>It’s dangerous what you’re doing</em>. <em>These are special things, personal things. </em><em>Don’t give me all these weapons</em>. <em>It's dangerous and I don't deserve to have them...</em></p><p>But Peter hadn’t said that.</p><p>Instead Peter had answered, tentative at first, but despite his reservations gradually exposing small bits of himself like so many raw nerves, trying to return the trust Stiles had placed in him.</p><p>And when those bits were not turned against him but instead were only folded, in a gentle, teasing sort of way, into their mutual exchange, into their shared snarkiness, Peter allowed himself to slip further and further down the rabbit hole.</p><p>Peter had not taken Stiles home that night.</p><p><em>He’s not yours. You have no right. Not until he says so and maybe not even then. </em> <em>He’s not something you can have. He’s not something you can keep.</em></p><p>
  <em>You don't deserve it.</em>
</p><p>Peter had been so familiar that night, so physical, standing close and keeping a hand on or near Stiles for the majority of the evening. His fingers were never far from Stiles's arms or thighs or face or waist.</p><p>Protective, though the threat was long gone… possessive, though no one was challenging his claim.</p><p>He couldn’t seem to help himself.</p><p><em>He’s mine. This strange, beautiful thing, this unpredictable spark igniting a fire I thought was long dead. This one’s for me.</em> <em>He came to me, walked up to me of his own free will and kissed the corner of my mouth so sweetly. He's gentle and kind and loud and wild and so very brave, and now that he's here I’m not letting him go. </em></p><p>But he hadn’t taken him home. Not that night.</p><p>He'd felt the fragile, warm, soft part inside of himself - a part that still existed in spite of everything - crumble and wail and resist. Crushing these feelings down, he resigned himself to never seeing Stiles again. He'd left the bar smirking and cold and without giving the beautiful boy with the honey-colored eyes his number.</p><p>Peter is ugly, and he knows it.</p><p>Better for everyone this way.</p><p>Stiles was back at the bar the following night, two beers in front of him, waiting.</p><p>He'd looked up with a shy wonder and seemed unsure if he would be welcome.</p><p>This uncertainty was utterly ridiculous to Peter.</p><p>
  <em>I’m yours. Don’t you know that? You had me body and soul from that first moment. I was lost the first time you kissed me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m yours.</em>
</p><p>“I’d never hurt you,” Peter’s voice breaks the stillness as they lay curled together up on the floor. "I..." <em>I love you </em>"...I'd never hurt you. I know that’s easy to say…”</p><p>Peter pauses. In the brief silence the future shapes itself, and he is himself transformed from a sleeping man into one that is wide awake. He sees his goal, what he wants most in the world, and he knows that he will do anything he has to do to make it happen. </p><p>“I’d like the chance to prove it,” he says finally.</p><p>He can feel Stiles's smile as the boy presses his face against his chest.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You guys are lovely and awesome, please feel free to say hi! Thank you for reading! &lt;3</p>
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